No Place to Hide
by Narysse a'Jahar
Summary: Sequel to Dance of the Dead. Things aren't exactly going according to plan as Frank and Joe try to figure out how an escape route and where Nancy and the kids are...currently ON HIATUS!
1. Toriad y Dydd: The Break of Day

Prologue

Toriad y Dydd- The Break of Day

A/N: Just for a change of pace, the chapter titles for this fic will most likely be in Welsh w/ English translations. Oh, and I believe that an "Io" in Welsh is usually pronounced as "Yo." Also, please pardon any spelling mistakes you may find by way of the Welsh stuff. Sorry for the short chapter…you know how these things are.

Disclaimer: What a complete and utter waste of time since none of us owns anything on here except the millions of different plots and the clever ways we get our favourite characters into trouble.

* * *

Joe Hardy remembered from his British history classes one person in particular. His name had been Iolo Goch, a Welsh bard; and about 1390 Common Era he'd written a poem to rebel Owain Glyn Dwr, saying "_mi a wn dy ach_; I know your lineage." Obviously, Joe thought with some sarcasm, whoever ran The Village was as familiar with the Hardys as Iolo Goch had been with Owain Glyn Dwr, because it seemed that everywhere Joe tried to trod, he was always being barred, by either the Network agents he and his brother Frank had worked with in the past, or by The Village itself. Just the other morning he'd attempted to see if there was any escape from The Village, but had been brought back—literally—by Rover, the Village Guardian. _Nice name for a guard dog in the shape of a weather balloon_, he thought dryly. 

The current Number 2, a small, thin woman of about sixty years with short black hair had informed the brothers that Nancy was safe and sound. However, Joe didn't trust that knowledge. Neither did Frank.

"They just work you up to a state of familiarity and general safety here," he'd warned Joe the first day the younger Hardy was there. "Then they pounce. Again, watch out for Iola's copy. Her number's 49."

That tight feeling between the shoulders you always get when you feel you're being watched hadn't gone since discovering Network operatives at Frank and Nancy's. Joe flexed his shoulder muscles in an effort to remove it as he and Frank walked up to a secluded, forested area of The Village where Frank and one of his brother's acquaintances, a man known as Number 6, often went for exercise or general woodcrafts.

Joe had finally gotten used to the number badge's weight on his shirt. "You're new here," Number 6 had remarked in a slight British accent. "I should have known that once they captured the famous Frank Hardy you would not be far behind."

Now they were meeting Number 6 at the secluded glen, edging past the moving statues with flashing eyes in a vain attempt to avoid prying cameras. _Soon_, Joe thought. Soon they would figure out a way to escape. _Soon_…


	2. Cenedl: Kindred

Chapter I

Cenedl- Kindred

"Where's Dad?"

"The agents took him away."

"Where, Brett? Where did they take him?"

"I don't know, Gwladys. Maybe the same place my dad is."

"Where's Aunt Nancy? Why are we in this place? What time is it? Is it day or night?"

"Gwladys, we're here because Dad knew where Uncle Frank is. Remember when he and Mom were together with Paul and their friends from when they were kids? They were trying to figure out where Uncle Frank was. I had to help them a few times."

"I remember Paul called you a Jedi. You got plenty mad at him for that."

"Yeah, because all I can do is sense things, and then it's not often accurate."

"Do you know where we are now?"

"Sorry, Brett. Wish I did, though. _Good against the living, that's something else_. Remember?"

"Do either of you know where the boys are? They're good at getting lost."

"Mom! What happened?"

"In good time, kiddo. First thing we need to figure out is how to get out of this sinkhole."

"I'm cold, Aunt Nancy. It's October. We're in a stone building. Where are we?"

"I don't know, Gwladys. Honest. Good grief, girl, what _did_ you do to your hair? Did you let the _bwca_ tangle it again?"

"Honestly, Mom, you and your obsession with mythology."

"Is Uncle Frank really dead?"

--"No, Gwladys. He's not. You need to promise me you won't ever tell anyone this, okay?"

"I promise, Aunt Nancy."

"Good, because this is important. He's not dead. He's in a place called The Village, which is where people like him go after they retire."

"I knew it! All this time, I couldn't get an image out of my head. It was a green dome and he was in it in a steel room!"

"Is Dad with him?"

"Yes, he is." _I hope Frank and Joe are together. Dios, I hope they are._

---

The smell of frying egg woke Joe, now Number 36, out of a deep slumber. For a moment he wondered why he was so tense and why his shoulder blades were still so tight. _Oh, yeah. Iola's copy saw me last night. She wanted to know why I hadn't gone after her all these years. I didn't tell her I knew she was a fraud. _

---

"Couldn't sleep again?" he asked Frank as he stumbled into the kitchen, yawning.  
Frank glanced over at Joe. "Would you be able to, given the circumstances?" he retorted.

Joe grinned wryly. "I can sleep anytime, anywhere." He yawned. "Of course, it may take about ten hours of tossing and turning to achieve it." He dug a mug out of the cupboard—it was a replica of Elen's _STAR TREK_ mug that had some sort of heat-activated glaze on it, because the painted figures of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy "beamed down" when it had hot liquid in it—and realized just how much he missed his girls. Not to mention wishing that Vanessa hadn't remarried a complete lunatic.

He poured himself coffee from the blue camp kettle on the stove and sat down at the table, wrapping his hands around the chunky mug. He was still amazed at how accurately Frank and Nancy's flat had been furnished, right down to the 1980's Star Wars Christmas record that was still in its original packaging. It must have cost Number 2 a pretty penny, finding that.

"You want toast with your eggs?" Frank asked.

"Sure, why not." Joe sipped at his coffee. "Do you think that Hughes and the Grey Man took Nancy and the kids with them? Or would they still be at home?"

Frank tensed as he transferred eggs to plates, and Joe realized he'd touched a sensitive nerve. Well, hey, he wanted to know what happened to them, too.

"Okay, we don't have to discuss that right now. But we both know that as soon as we get out of here we're gonna want to know where they are, and more importantly, how we're going to get to them. And how we're going to get back home, if ever."

---

"Mom, what's going to happen now?"

"I don't know. I honestly don't know."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lonesome Dove

A/N: Sorry it's been so long. I now have about 2 weeks before the last day of classes (yes, I'm in college) and the dance recital is the same day as graduation and I've got about a zillion projects due, so don't expect too many updates until after May 17th. And yes, I realize I said the chapter titles would most likely be in Welsh, but I couldn't resist the symbolism. Cheers!

_

* * *

Number 6 had greeted Frank and Joe upon their arrival at the place Number 6 had set up on the edge of the Village Cemetery. The brothers had nodded greetings in return. _

"_There's going to be an art festival in a couple weeks," Number 6 said. "I've been working on a project." He gestured toward a collection of boards and felled trees. "I know from the other festival they did that they want Number 2's face somewhere on the project, whether he's the main subject or he's a decoration. They liked the boat I made last time, so this time we're doing something a bit on the bigger side."_

"_Don't you think they'll catch on to our plan?" Joe asked, nervous. In all his years of working in association with the Network, the agents who obviously ran this place were cunning._

_Number 6 had shaken his head at that. "Not likely. Sure, they've got video cameras around here so they can monitor the iffy prisoners, and the keepers hold rather high positions, like working in the computer and monitoring room, and they report to Number 2, but Number 2 changes so frequently that by the time he's fully informed of just my current status, he's offed and someone else takes over. It's been like this for a while; I think they switch Number 2 so many times because they want to find someone who'll get me to break. They want me to tell them why I resigned," he added at Joe's questioning look._

"_That's what they want me to tell," Frank said quietly, grimly. "I keep telling them it was a matter of conscience."_

_Number 6 smirked, but it was a sympathetic gesture. "I know. That's what I tell them, too."_

* * *

Now, Joe wondered why his brother and Number 6 had really resigned. He was holding the main pole of the sea-faring vessel they were creating, his mind not truly on the matter. Nancy had said that Frank had been muttering to himself shortly before he resigned from the Network. Joe wondered, too, why Frank had resigned in the first place. He knew that sometimes the Network gave them assignments that neither was very comfortable with—like that one in which they basically had to break into an Assassin-held fortress of sorts to rescue a Network agent. The survival rate had been very low, and Joe and Frank both had received wounds in the process of escaping the place, but they had been informed that an alternate plan was in store if they refused to accept the mission. Knowing the Network, that plan would probably have had something similar to the way in which Joe had been transported to The Village. 

But that didn't solve the puzzles Number 6 gave as his reasons for resigning from his top-secret government job.

_

* * *

As Joe sat on the walkway leading to the electronically-operated door of the small apartment he and Frank shared, he couldn't help but wonder why he had been brought there. Was it because he knew too much of The Village, just from Jerry Gilroy's vague memory of reading something that had mentioned the place? Was it because he had been too open about trying to find Frank? Was it because Elen could see things none of them could? Why? _

_His years as a policeman had given him the ability to suppress his emotions for a time; and the ability had developed into something of an instinct._

_A soft step coming from a sneaker-clad foot caught his attention. Obviously the owner was attempting stealth, and was rather good at it. His eyes widened as he saw the owner round the corner._

"_Hello, Joe," Iola Morton said._

"_You died."_

_Iola shook her head. "No, I was saved from death by some men."_

_Joe's blue eyes flashed. "There was a copy of her shortly after that. A clone, who knew everything about her. Her real name was Sally."_

_Iola's face took on a stormy appearance. "How do you know that?"_

"_I saw her. The Assassins said that Iola truly died that night. How long ago was that?"_

"_23 years," Iola said automatically._

_It was Joe's turn to shake his head. "25 years," he corrected. _

_The woman, if anything, got angrier. "Why don't you prove it?" she hissed, a British accent betraying her._

"_I have."_

* * *

Joe again sat on the side of the walkway outside the apartment. Frank, who evidently had just finished the dishes, came out and sat beside him, and set down the two-faced radio, which was playing a soft classical piece for instruments. 

"Where do you think the others are?" Joe asked.

Frank tensed; his eyes became rather dull. "I don't know. I don't care as long as they're safe."

"You've got to care, don't you? Nancy's your wife; Brett's your son. I've lost my girls as well. You've _got_ to care."

"Escape is impossible from here."

"Yeah, just because I tried swimming farther than the boundaries permitted." Joe shuddered. "Remind me not to do that again."

"Did you see anyone you recognized while you were in the hospital?"

Joe shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe I saw Biff, but it's just, he's back home. And maybe I saw Nancy, but if you're not sure, someone with just the same hair color and build can look like someone you know."

They stared out into the warm fall night for a few minutes.

"What do you think of Number 6?" Frank asked.

Joe shrugged again. "He's in the same boat, and somehow, my instinct says we can trust him. But we don't even know his real name. And while we know he's British, three-quarters of the population here are British. We're the only Americans, it seems."

"Do you know why I resigned?" Frank asked quietly.

"How do you know they're not listening?" Joe retorted.

"Number 6 showed me this trick," Frank replied, nodding toward the radio. "Do you want to know why I resigned?"

Joe glanced at him. "You said yesterday it was a matter of conscience, same as Number 6."

Frank nodded. "That's part of it. They wanted me to accompany another agent on what seemed to me a suicide mission."

"Suicide mission!"

"Yeah. The Assassins had captured Atlas, Ian, and Mayberry. They wanted Helen and me to go in after them."

"How many guards were there?"

"About a hundred. I didn't want to risk it. Even if we managed to get in, with three others in probably less than superb condition, we would have been slowed down coming out."

"And you knew it would be impossible."

"Uh-huh. Helen didn't like the idea, either, but she said she'd go. She didn't have everything to lose. I did."

"So how come you don't care about them anymore?"

"I do. But like I said, escape is impossible. You saw what Rover can do. You also know that our every _movement_ is monitored. It's just…impossible."


End file.
